Page 85 of Forced Virgin Bride of the Bratva
My voice lowers, careful and cold. “So you came back to die.”
“No.” Her gaze doesn’t drop. “I came back to choose.”
That stops everything. The house could collapse around us and I wouldn’t notice. “Choose what?”
“You.” She swallows. “Or Tiago. What I want. What I can live with.”
“You think there’s a version of this where you can live?” I ask, stepping forward again, slow and deliberate. “After what you did? After what I know?”
Her lips press together. Her body doesn’t flinch. “Maybe not, but I need to try.”
I study her. The bruises are faint now, but still visible. There’s a cut near her collarbone, half healed. Her clothes are wrinkled, bags under the eyes. She’s been running. Bleeding. Fighting. Yet here she stands, proud as ever. Beautiful as ever.
God, I want to break something.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” I say, softer now. Almost impressed. “You caused this war.”
“I didn’t start it,” she says. “I just lit the fuse.”
“Now?”
Her voice trembles, but her eyes don’t. “I’m here to see if I can put it out.”
The silence hangs like smoke between us. It’s a lie, or it’s half a lie. But I don’t care. She’s here. That’s all that matters. The rage in my chest shifts, mutates into something messier.
I take another step forward. Her breath stutters.
“If this is a trap,” I say, “if there’s one fucking cartel member hiding in my walls—”
“There’s not.”
“If Tiago even looks in my direction—”
“He’s gone, waiting for me around the corner. I asked for some space.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m not lying.” Her voice is steady. “I’m not here for them. I’m here for you.”
I reach for her again, my hand finding the curve of her waist. She lets me. Doesn’t move, doesn’t shrink.
“Say that again,” I whisper.
She looks up at me, lashes heavy, mouth parted like a prayer. “I came back for you.”
I hate her. I want her. I want to destroy her for making me believe it. More than that—I want to believe it again.
“Then prove it,” I murmur. “Stay.”
Her fingers twitch against her side. “You’ll let me live?” she asks, voice low.
“No,” I say. “Maybe.”
“Not good enough.”
Then she grabs her bag, turns, and leaves. In the doorway, she says. “We’re leaving the country. Last chance to kill me, if that’s still in the cards.”
Kiera already knows I’m going to let her go.
